


wish me a wonder and wish me to sleep

by missgoalie75



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Insomnia, M/M, New York City, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 17:49:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21676489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missgoalie75/pseuds/missgoalie75
Summary: this is the happiest quentin coldwater has been in, well. a long ass time: he is so close to finishing his dissertation that he can imagine himself holding that phd diploma on graduation day; he's engaged to alice quinn, already a professor and on track to becoming tenured at their university; he's living in nyc - the best city in the world - and everything is great. except for the insomnia. that is maybe becoming a problem. at least until he accidentally knocks over eliot waugh - a bartender in the east village - and, again, accidentally falls asleep with him on the subway. out of mutual desperation to just get some sleep, quentin and eliot arrange time to sleep together. just sleep. and it works, at least until it becomes complicated with feelings.
Relationships: Margo Hanson & Eliot Waugh, Quentin Coldwater & Julia Wicker, Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 18
Kudos: 161
Collections: Magicians Hallmark Holiday Extravaganza





	wish me a wonder and wish me to sleep

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [wish me a wonder and wish me to sleep (art)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21668566) by [snoopypez](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snoopypez/pseuds/snoopypez). 

> **ART:** [by jaime](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21668566/)
> 
> [bonus fanmix!](https://8tracks.com/missgoalie75/wish-me-a-wonder-and-wish-me-to-sleep)
> 
> **prompt:** freeform's _no sleep 'til christmas_
> 
> **characters/pairings:** quentin, eliot, julia, margo, alice, josh, feat. others; quentin/eliot feat. minor quentin/alice, quentin & julia, eliot & margo
> 
> **spoilers/warnings:** none - au; language, references to past suicide ideation & attempt, references to past child abuse, references to recreational drug use, sexual themes
> 
> **disclaimer:** title is a lyric from “the maze” by manchester orchestra.
> 
> **notes:** thank you to the moderators for running such an ambitious and creative fest! it was a lot of fun and such a gift for the fandom that only deserves good things. I also want to thank my artist, jaime/skittlestrash, who was very patient with me and created such BEAUTIFUL THINGS based on all the nonsense I threw at her. couldn't have asked for a better partner during this. lastly, thank you to annie for beta-ing this, even though this isn't her fandom, she's a real trooper.

The thing is, Quentin Coldwater never exactly had the best sleeping habits. He thinks his issues probably started when he was around seven years old, considering the possibility of there being _nothing _after death and the absolute crippling anxiety stemming from that consideration. Yeah, that seems about right.

So, he's never been great about falling asleep or staying asleep. It typically depended on his mental health status. Depression always fucked with it in one way and anxiety always fucked with it another way. Still, he managed; he had stretches of normal sleeping habits. He remembers the first time he shared his extra-long, single mattress with Alice during his first year of his Master's program at Brakebills and admitting that he always liked sharing. 

And given where he is in his life – emotionally, mentally, academically, what have you – he should have no issues. He's months away from graduating with his PhD, he's finishing up his dissertation, he has just proposed (somewhat haphazardly, admittedly) to Alice – he has a _fiancé _now, not a girlfriend – how grown up is that? They're planning to throw an engagement party during the holiday break since neither have time until then.

So, he should be sleeping relatively well.

Instead…

Quentin rolls his head on his pillow and looks at the digital clock on his nightstand. Four in the morning.

He noiselessly yells _FUCK_ into the dark.

This is the third night in a row in which he's hasn't slept. Like, full blown insomnia that he's never experienced in his _life_.

He looks over at Alice, who is sleeping soundly, her back to him, and he's seething with jealousy. He wants to be dead to the world, he wants to experience REM. Fuck, he'll take a goddamn nightmare just to get some _fucking sleep_.

These random naps in the teacher's lounge and under his desk and on their uncomfortable couch in their apartment are not cutting it.

He carefully sits up and gets out of bed. 

It's okay – he can work with this. Maybe he can be productive! Finish up his dissertation early, that'll work. Right.

**

"Here, this helps, it's natural," Julia suggests while they grab Starbucks after his classes, giving him a pill bottle with _melatonin_ written in purple along with _maximum strength_ below it.

"Do I need to remind you that I've been on and off meds since I was thirteen?"

"No, because I was there for that." She nods to it. "Trust me. Colleagues of mine have taken it to counteract coke or Adderall. Along with alcohol or Xanax, admittedly, but…I think it helps people that don't abuse illicit substances."

He shrugs. "Whatever, I'll give it a shot."

"You're really not sleeping at all?" she asks with a frown.

He sucks down the venti iced americano he ordered. It has six pumps of vanilla syrup in it. "Nope. I nap now. Thirty minutes to an hour. A couple of times during the day." _Got a solid - fifteen - minutes - they say - that’s all - you need_ \- as Seth Cohen infamously says in _The OC._ Maybe over the break he do a rewatch or something and pretend he’s warm...

Julia raises an eyebrow. "You're joking."

"I'm now intimately familiar with under my desk in classroom 301B."

"You're _napping_ under your _desk_?"

"I like small spaces to nap, makes me feel safe and protected."

She brings a hand to her temple and rubs it.

He sucks down more of his delicious, sweet, caffeinated nectar. He jiggles his leg under the table. He hits his knee against the bottom more than once.

"I think you need to stop with the espresso," she says firmly, reaching out to grab his drink out of his hand. She takes a sip and grimaces in a way that makes him snort. "Q, this is _vile_. Take the melatonin, take ZzzQuil, take cold medicine or Benadryl if you must, just sleep more than two hours, will you? And I'd cut the caffeine."

"Please give it back," Quentin begs. "I'm planning on going through my References pages and I need to focus and be _awake_."

She narrows her eyes and puts his drink back on the table and slowly pushes it to him.

"Hi, baby," he whispers as he pulls it back to him.

"I'm leaving, text me tomorrow," she says, standing up. "Be creepy alone."

"I'll email you this weekend with the Monster?"

He's taken to calling his dissertation the Monster, which is a little juvenile, admittedly.

"Yeah, do you mind if I get it back to you on Tuesday?"

"Take your time – I'm ahead of schedule. This is the only perk about insomnia."

"Let's just hope it's not a delirious mess," Julia says with a parting, charming smile.

"Shit," he mutters under his breath.

He comforts himself by taking a sip of his drink.

**

The melatonin works for maybe two hours and then he's awake again. Groggier than usual, maybe, but still conscious.

He sends a text to Julia at four in the morning:

From Q:  
_Your so-called miracle drug doesn't work!_

From Julia Wicker:  
_Try Benadryl tomorrow that usually knocks you out._

From Q:  
_Wtf what are you doing up right now???_

__From Julia Wicker:  
_Working out! Best to get it out of the way._

From Q:  
_YOU ARE CRAZY!!!_

From Julia Wicker:  
_You're awake, you can join me tomorrow._

From Q:  
_Well, hopefully the Benadryl will work tomorrow._

From Julia Wicker:  
_But if not, you know which 24 Hour Fitness I go to._

__From Q:  
_We'll see._

**

The Benadryl doesn't work. Well, it kind of does since his he thinks the mold from the three days of rain has been killing his sinuses. But it doesn't make him sleepy.

So, he walks into the 24 Hour Fitness looking over Madison Square Park at four in the goddamn morning. There are only three people on the entire first floor, including Julia, who is looking like a professional in Lululemon gear, neon pink sneakers, and running in perfect form. He catches her gaze and she smiles at him and then frowns, remembering that he'd rather be passed out in his bed than here working out with her.

He gets on the treadmill next to hers and puts the speed at a casual walk. She gives him a pointed look and increases the speed until he's at a power walk.

"I need to go to a doctor. This isn't right," he complains. "I’m at the gym at the ass crack of dawn."

"What does Alice think?"

"She's still the heaviest sleeper. She thinks I'm asleep when she is. I lied and said I'm taking melatonin and it's making me wake up earlier than her."

"She believes that? You look awful, Q. I love you, but you need under eye cream to offset those bags."

He sighs. "I know. But she's wrapped up in a paper she's submitting for a book and she's teaching an extra class this semester, so." He shrugs. 

She decreases the speed on her treadmill to a brisk jog. "I have a coworker who swears by her sleep doctor."

"I can't –"

"I can. Seriously, I'm worried. It's for me, really."

Quentin's financial situation is only bearable because his stipend isn't the worst, Alice is a full time professor, and both of them tend to not eat when stressed, so their grocery bills can be scarily low. Still, the idea of going to the doctor outside of his internist and his therapist and psychiatrist when he needs it is…not appealing for his wallet.

But Julia will not be denied something she wants, so he thanks her.

"Good!" She slows her treadmill further so she's matching his pace. "After this, we're doing weights. Let's work on your muscle tone."

He makes the _eek_ face emoji at her.

**

It's getting bad. Going to the gym before the sun is up is _bad_.

But that's not what tips Alice off that something is Not Right.

At first, Alice thought his consistent effort to work on his dissertation was admirable, but now…

Quentin is still beaming happily at Alice, whose gaze is still narrowed suspiciously.

"I'm not joking," he adds.

"But…you never finishing anything early. You've pulled _many_ all-nighters to submit papers right before the deadline. You are a certified procrastinator to the most infuriating degree. And yet…you finished your dissertation…_six weeks_ ahead of schedule?"

He shrugs and tries to smile charmingly, the way that always got Julia extra free samples at Sephora, but Alice a master of sussing out bullshit, so her eyes narrow even further.

"What's wrong," she demands.

He cracks under pressure. He admits the sleep he is not having. He admits to the pillow under his desk and that he only goes to the gym three days a week with Julia because he's awake at an ungodly hour.

"Maybe we just…need to exhaust you," Alice suggests, walking over and sitting on his lap, her skirt riding up to her hips and _oh_. Yeah, that they can definitely try.

**

…That also doesn’t work.

It might be time to try something that would generally be frowned upon by all the mental health professionals he's seen throughout his life:

Alcohol.

Lots of it.

**

It's a good thing he's otherwise friends with a bunch of degenerates because he can usually find at least two people to go drinking with at the drop of a hat.

So, he enlists Penny, his old roommate from freshman year, to help him out.

From Floppy Haired Limp Dick Dork:  
_Hi Penny, hope all is well, etc. Are you free tomorrow evening to help me get so plastered that I pass out?_

__From Penny Adiyodi:  
_Yep I would also like that. I'll think of a place. Kady will come so I don't abandon you like last time._

__From Floppy Haired Limp Dick Dork:  
_Wow, really? You care?_

From Penny Adiyodi:  
_Only because I'm not facing the wrath of Julia again. She was fucking scary. She also threatened to chop my hands off if I did it again._

__From Floppy Haired Limp Dick Dork:  
_My own personal guardian angel._

From Penny Adiyodi:  
_Don't text me again. I'll text you with the bar._

__Quentin rolls his eyes, but closes out his text with Penny.

Penny's idea is to start on Avenue B and make their way west toward the subways, that way when they're drunk, Quentin at least doesn't have to go far to reach mostly reliable transportation.. And they're old enough that they can get home on autopilot, right?

Well…sure. Usually Quentin is with someone else who is more with it in terms of the sobriety spectrum. Certain neighborhoods he's more familiar with and he can do that. But he hasn't been out in the East Village since he was an undergrad, but this is Penny's territory – or close to it living between Avenue B and C – so he goes along with it.

The downside is that they start off at a wine-on-tap bar, then move on to a cocktail bar where he has two cocktails with three different types of liquor in them, then switches to wine again, then he changes to beer, and –

He's _so_ drunk. He's very drunk. He hasn't been this drunk in a long time.

They've made it to Third Avenue and Kady is essentially holding up the both of them. Penny and Quentin always get along better when using a substance, so they're holding hands behind Kady's back and talking to each other with very little regard for her.

"Why can't you be this friendly with Julia?" Kady mutters to Penny. "If there was a threesome worth having –"

A few things happen all at once. Penny, in his shock, leaves Kady's hold to yell, "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" in a way that's probably meant to insult Quentin because the thought of engaging in sex with him is offensive, but also out of surprise because neither of them thought Kady would be into a threesome.

Then, once Penny leaves Kady's hold, her balance is put off kilter and she loses her hold on Quentin, who then stumbles forward.

Quentin doesn't have control over his body on a good day when he's sober. Now? He's not remotely surprised that he not only bumps into someone, but they both end up on their asses on the cold, dirty sidewalk.

"Whoa," he mutters. He needs to lie down.

"Oh, thank god, it's just my hands," another voice says.

"Oh my god," Quentin says, rolling so he can get to his knees and he sees the guy he bumped into sitting up on the sidewalk, staring at his hands, which are scraped up.

"You're happy 'bout your hands?" Quentin asks before adding, "I'm _so sorry_, I'm a cat-tas-tro-phe when I walk. Especially when drunk."

The guy looks up and oh, he's so handsome. "My hands," he repeats, showing his scraped palms. "Pants are good though. Pants are okay?" He lifts his hips up to check his ass.

Quention looks down at the guy's long legs and his nice ass and the pants seem okay. "Yes. Good," Quentin reassures him. "Your hands though. You should see someone."

"You think?" Eliot peers down at his hands with cross-eyed concentration.

"You don't want to lose them."

"Yeah. Okay."

Quentin gets to his feet and bends to help the stranger to stand up since he can't use his hands to help himself up. Oh, wow, he is _tall_.

"We should take the subway then. NYU?" the tall, handsome stranger suggests.

"Sure, yeah, whatever you want."

So, they go to Union Square and wait for a 6 train, planning on getting off at 28th Street.

They plop next to each other on the seat when the subway arrives and Quentin smiles up at him. "I'm Quentin."

"Eliot."

They go to shake hands, but Quentin doesn't want to hurt Eliot's hands even further, so he just pats Eliot's knee.

After that, well. Quentin leans back and watches the lights go by and Eliot is warm and big and tall and he shuts his eyes and –

He's gently being shaken awake by a kind-looking old woman. "I think you might've overshot your stop."

"What?" Quentin asks, confused.

The old lady points to the line map across from him and Quentin's jaw drops. _Mosholu Parkway_ – that's the second to last stop on the 4 train in the Bronx.

Quentin shakes Eliot awake, who blinks a few times and stares at Quentin with a happy, tired, drunk smile before he seems to recognize where they are.

"Uh…"

"We not only overshot 28th Street, but we got on the wrong train," Quentin supplies.

Eliot whips his head and his eyes bug out. "What the _fuuuck_."

Quentin sways a little in his seat and grins for no good reason.

"Okay, let's just…take it to the end, it'll go back downtown, and then we'll figure it out," Eliot says, placing a hand on Quentin's shoulder before wincing. He checks the palm of his hand and grimaces. "We were definitely very drunk to think this warranted a trip to the hospital." He shows his hands again.

"Yeah…it seemed worse when I wasn't…seeing straight." Quentin looks up at Eliot. "I'm really sorry."

"It's fine. It would be not fine if my pants were ruined, so you're spared my wrath." Eliot leans back and sighs, shuts his eyes.

Quentin stares for a bit until he realizes it's weird and does the same.

**

The only reason why Quentin wakes up right before Crown Heights is because he comes here whenever he wants birthday cake from Butter and Scotch, so he shakes Eliot awake and they stumble out of the subway and onto the platform before they can go deeper into Brooklyn.

"I'm going to be honest here," Eliot starts. "I haven't slept very well lately, so I don't think I can be trusted on public transportation."

"Same. On both counts. Split a Lyft or Uber?"

"Sounds good."

They split a ride to Grand Central, figuring they could sleep it off in the main concourse and end up falling asleep _again_. Thankfully the driver named Devon kindly wakes them up and offers them breath mints, which Quentin isn't sure is also an insult, but he loves Lifesaver mints, so he thanked him.

They pick a spot by the stairs and promptly fall asleep again. They're woken up by staff informing them that the first train to New Haven is about to leave from track seventeen. 

Quentin is sober, but his head is in pain. And judging by the wrinkle in between Eliot's brows, he's not in great shape either. 

"That was the most sleep I've gotten in weeks," Quentin admits. "Even if it did end in a hangover."

"Really?"

Quentin nods once and instantly regrets it. He brings his hands on either side of his head.

"Interesting…"

"Why?"

"Because I also haven't slept well in weeks. Well, technically, it's been years due to various issues that shouldn't be discussed with hangovers, but…" Eliot trails off and looks at Quentin. "We should exchange numbers."

Quentin slowly drops his hands and looks at Eliot. His hair is messy, but there's evidence that it was perfectly quaffed at one point before literally bumping into him. His clothes are fancy and well-fitted if a little rumpled from traveling through three boroughs unnecessarily.

And, well. He's really good looking in Grand Central despite the lighting.

"I mean, if we both finally managed to sleep, maybe it means something," Eliot continues, not missing a beat.

"It could've been the alcohol."

"I didn't have as much as you did."

"You had enough to complete with me. I think."

Eliot rolls his eyes. "Trust me, I've tried it. Drinking myself into oblivion, it hadn't worked."

"Maybe you just got the right combination this time."

"I'm a mixologist at a pretentious speakeasy in the East Village, I know my shit. It wasn't the alcohol."

Quentin looks Eliot up and down and Eliot gasps like he’s offended. 

Thankfully, Quentin's pocket buzzes and it's Julia.

"I gotta go – it was nice meeting you," Quentin says, getting to his feet and rushing away to get on the subway. "Hey, I'm awake."

"_Well that's a fucking relief – where are you?_"

"Grand Central – I passed out last night."

"…_That literally doesn’t make sense. We're Penn Station assholes from Jersey. How did you end up in Grand Central? What the fuck happened last night?!_"

"I bumped into a guy and we stupidly and drunkenly decided to take the subway to a hospital and we ended up in the Bronx, then we ended up in Brooklyn, then we got a car, then we were in Grand Central –"

"_Uh, why were you traveling around like that?_"

"We fell asleep."

_"…Come again?_"

"We fell asleep. In the subway going uptown, in the subway going downtown, in the car, _on the floor_ of Grand Central Station."

"_Get on the subway and head to my apartment. Breakfast's on me. I need to hear _everything_._"

Julia hangs up.

"Why is my life so fucking crazy," Quentin mutters as he gets his MetroCard from the back of his phone.

**

Julia lives in the West Village where there are too many Australian cafes with artisan coffee worth five bucks and a small and avocado toast with a poached egg for fourteen.

One of them, thankfully, has the option of an egg and cheese sandwich with avocado on it, which he relishes along with an iced coffee.

"Okay, what happened – do I need to fulfill my promise to Penny? Because I will."

"Kady admitted she was interested in a threesome," he blurts, the memories coming back to him.

Julia cocks her head to the side. "With you?"

"No, with _you_."

She blinks a few times, narrows her eyes, stares into the distance. "Yeah, that would work," she says with a definitive nod.

"Did you just…_imagine_ that scenario and agreed that would _work_?" He's trying his best to not think about it because they're all hot in this scenario and they're in public.

"A little – and considered the possible dynamics in a sexual context. I think it works."

He sighs and would drop his head into his arms on the table, but the table is too small and their plates take up most of the space. Damn the lack of space in Manhattan. One of them should've moved to Brooklyn.

"Anyway, that's not important –"

"It's not?"

"No, what's important is that you met a hot guy and he somehow, miraculously inspired you to sleep."

"I didn't describe what he looked like."

"I know things – he's definitely hot. Am I wrong? I'm right – I'm always right."

He grimaces, which makes her beam in triumph. "Fine," Quentin admits. "He was hot. And he dressed…_really _well. Like, he wore a fancy waistcoat and it looked cool." He furrows his brow and maybe pouts, but he's blaming it on the mild hangover.

"I don't think I've seen you this flustered over someone since Diana Rojas during community service the summer after junior year."

"I was definitely a mess with Alice in the beginning."

Julia makes an unconvinced noise. "Not really. You definitely tried to be her friend and then she wanted to jump you. You were not on this level."

"That doesn't mean anything," he's quick to say.

She blinks once. "I didn't put a value on it."

"Yes, you did, you made a point to bring up my current behavior while I'm not well and compared it to a rather embarrassing time in high school when I hadn't liked anyone besides, well, _you_. Therefore, equating them and coming to the assumption that I like the stranger that I met last night."

"Sometimes I think you picked the wrong career path. We could've made money together," she says thoughtfully.

"Please, I would've been a PD and you know it."

She scoffs in return. "You would've lasted a week and you would've quit by pretending to go to lunch and leaving half of your belongings behind and never coming back."

He snorts. "That was definitely from _Ask a Manager._"

"I love that website so much," she confirms. "But seriously. Let's ignore the initial attraction. Are you seeing him again?"

"Why?"

"Because you _slept properly_ for the first time in two months, Q."

"I was extremely drunk. Hence the hangover. Hence my not crying over spending ten dollars on an egg and cheese sandwich."

"_I _paid for it, not you. Quentin. Focus."

"What?" he asks, annoyed.

"You _slept_." She raises her eyebrows in punctuation.

He exhales. He did. An early Christmas miracle.

"I slept," he says. "I'll never sleep again," he whines.

"Why?"

"I only got a name and an occupation."

"Which are…?"

"You're not going to find him."

She gasps, clearly offended. "Excuse me, dare you forget that I found the guy I met on spring break while drunk and had nothing to go on besides two possible names and a t-shirt with a distinctive slogan? With only the use of Facebook? I am that white girl meme of being able to find anyone like the FBI except I'm Blackfoot and Cherokee and therefore more powerful. Gimme."

"Eliot. Mixologist at a speakeasy in the East Village."

"I'll find your new sleeping mate."

"I don't need a sleeping mate, I already have one. My fiancé, you know, Alice Quinn?"

She promptly ignores him and pulls out her phone, going on the hunt already.

"I thought you were happy about me and Alice."

That grabs her attention. "Yeah. What does that have to do with anything?"

"You seem a little too excited about finding a random guy I met last night when I have an amazing, beautiful, super smart fiancé already. I'm done playing, I'm done – _you_ on the other hand…"

She puts her phone face down on the table. "It's not about you and Alice. It's just about you. I'm _worried_ – I've been worried for so long about you and the sleeping and this is the first time you've slept and if this rando was why it happened, then I want to find him again so we can figure out what happened. I didn't mean to offend you or belittle your relationship with Alice, okay?"

They've had a similar fight before – more than once. Quentin kind of suspects that Julia isn't enthralled with Alice, but then again, it feels like it's coming from usually a parent's 'no one is good enough for my baby,' perspective. He knows Julia doesn’t hate Alice – they've kicked Quentin out of the room a handful of times to discuss academic shit. But anyway, Quentin gets that – feeling like nobody is good enough – he's felt that way more than once about Julia's boyfriends (except her last one – he really liked James, but that helped that they were childhood friends beforehand). 

He sighs and rubs his eyes.

"I'll get you an Uber. Maybe you can channel last night and sleep a little more?"

He smiles and nods, but he doubts it. He was always a bit of a pessimist.

**

"_Fuck, fuck, FUCKFUCKFUCK_," Quentin yells after lying on his bed for two hours.

He's so fucking _fucked_.

********

Eliot Waugh is not at his best.

Normally he’d be a little forgiving since he was technically drinking in order to develop some new cocktails that are subtly inspired by the holiday season – he would really like to develop a Hanukkah one that doesn’t taste like death.

(Here’s looking at you, Miracle Pop-Up Bar. That chocolate-tequila beverage is _nauseating_.)

So, this time being drunk wasn’t to self-sabotage or try to forget Bad Things. But the result of being the level of intoxicated led to a series of events last night that he’s not equipped to handle while sober, with his cheek resting against the cold bathroom tile at seven in the morning.

“You’re not going to vom, Eliot, why are you lying there?”

“Bambi, please. Let me recover.”

His dearest friend is rolling her eyes – he knows without having to look.

“You have to tell me what happened.”

“I will, I promise.”

“…I don’t mean later, I mean now. I’ve already waited three hours for you to get your sorry ass out of the bathroom.”

He sighs deeply. “I slept.”

“With who?”

“No, I mean I slept. In the literal sense, in the original meaning of the word. I closed my eyes and was unconscious for longer than an hour.”

Her silence indicates an appropriate amount of shock. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“Where the hell did you sleep? On the street?” She sounds concerned.

“The subway…then a car…then Grand Central…”

“I take it you were with someone?”

“Yes.”

“A man?”

“Yes.”

“Cute?”

“In a dorky way, I suppose.”

“You like those though.”

Eliot slowly sits up and looks up at Margo. She’s leaning against the bathroom doorway with a foot in between Eliot’s calves and she’s a little worried and intrigued, not sure on where to land.

He hasn't realized how noisy their apartment is until he got back and felt like every car honk was ten times louder than before. Being alert and sober _sucks_.

“Start from the beginning,” she says in that low, soft way that lessens the demand into more of a non-optional request.

“Left work a little drunk – came up with two or three possible drinks for next week, will go into detail later. I was knocked into by him – Quentin! That’s it. I think I called him Curly Q once," he winces at the potential embarrassment of that. "Anyway. He knocked me over, I fell, scraped my hands -"

"Your pants are okay, right?"

"Yes, thank god. I would've hated him for eternity."

"Okay, continue."

"We were drunk and thought it was acceptable to go to the hospital to get my wounds checked and we ended up passing out in three different boroughs." He looks over at one of his hands - he has a bandaid on the heel of his palm.

She raises an eyebrow. "You're lucky you didn't get mugged."

"I know."

"So, you managed to get sleep by being near this...Quentin."

"Yes."

"You got his number, right?"

"No. He...ran off in the morning."

"Really?"

"I thought it meant something, but I must've still been drunk. It's silly. Or I'm just reaching a breaking point and will latch onto anything that'll get me to sleep like a normal, functioning person." He shoots her a sharp look. "No commenting."

She smirks a little. "Okay. I get it. Do you know anything else about him?"

"No. He dresses like a straight college kid though."

"Hoodie?" she guesses.

Eliot nods with a pained expression.

"Well, those are…a dime a dozen in New York," she says with a wince.

"He has longer hair. Nice hair. Smelled nice."

"Well, the island is small, I'm sure you may run into him. Hell, if I can go out to the West Village and bump into three different men I've dated over the span of two hours, two of whom didn't even _live_ there, then anything is possible."

"That sounds more ominous than optimistic."

"It's called balance, honey. If the bad can happen, so can the good. Now, are you ready for the hair of the dog? I got a table at Jack's Wife Freda." She wiggles her eyebrows.

Her ability to get tables at places that don't take reservations that are (understandably) Instagram traps is magical. "You're a goddess and I’m not worthy. Yes. How much time do I have to get my shit together?"

"A half hour and then I'm calling the Uber."

"I can work with that." He gracefully gets to his feet and, as he says, gets his shit together.

**

People complain about winter, but the truth is, you don't know a fucking winter until you've lived in the bumfuck Midwest with snow being dumped in October and well into April, with temperatures in the negatives and the wind cutting through every layer of clothing.

So, he doesn't have patience for these New England and Mid-Atlantic folk complaining about the weather during the tail-end of fall. But, he keeps it to himself since he likes the illusion that he's just like them – growing up in Connecticut or Westchester and going to a summer house in Martha's Vineyard or the Hamptons and pretending that only the east and west coasts of the country exist – the middle is just empty land to fly over.

However, he will listen to Margo complain because she grew up in LA and wasn't exposed to snow until she went to Aspen when she was ten. She hated it then, and hates it now.

"I hate it," she grumbles, her arm looped tightly with his. It's mostly for the cold, but she's also wearing killer heels and they've had a number of cocktails with Stoli vodka in them.

"I know, Bambi."

"Why do I live here?"

"Because New York is a vastly superior city to LA."

"You don't take public transportation with weird people in LA."

"Yes, but this is actually a metropolitan city."

"There's culture here," she agrees. She sighs dramatically. "Wine bar?"

"Yes, please."

He's only told Margo that there's something very wonderful about drinking at one in the afternoon and ending at one in the morning. Sometimes he wants to be in his bed before two in the morning and have the day to attempt adult things.

If anyone asks though, he lives and thrives at night.

**

His week consists of the following schedule: Wednesday through Sunday is when he bartends at a speakeasy in the East Village called Carefree, which can only be entered through a bakery called Cake Walk that remains open until 4am on Friday and Saturday and 2am on the other days of the week. He makes great money in tips and can afford to live with Margo in the Upper East Side on Second Avenue, which is now worth a lot more thanks to the opening of the Q line on 86th Street. He constantly fears every year he won’t be able to keep up his half of the rent.

It's fun – he likes meeting different people and he's good at convincing people to try this, try that, _yes_, have one more drink, it's Thursday, it's Wednesday – halfway done with the week, it's Saturday – time to party, etc.

But, ideally? Like, if he had more money, he'd own a bar. He has ideas, he has an almost solidified list of cocktails and he knows what kind of food he wants to sell (only sick people want sugar after drinking sugar all night, he does not understand his current clientele, even though the bakery does make beautifully designed cupcakes and delicious cranberry scones).

That's not feasible at this time, so he'll just continue with his current job. He still has time, right?

_Yes,_ he convinces himself at three in the morning after being in downward facing dog for two minutes.

**

His schedule goes back to normal, for the most part. He works at the bar, he gets back late, he tries to remain in bed until noon, he might go to the gym, he might not. He cooks for Margo because she works ridiculous hours and doesn't deserve to work outside of the office. He goes on the occasional date, but lately he's been a little…uninterested. He deleted the apps after he turned down someone to go back to his apartment. His negative aura doesn't deserve to be online.

He doesn’t think about Quentin. Much.

At least until he sees someone sit down at the bar in the corner of his eye on a Wednesday early evening. The bar, while small, is half-empty at this point and he hasn't had much conversation with the two girls at the bend who seem to be high school friends catching up and the couple who seems to be on date number three or four.

He stops shaking the gin cocktail he's making when he sees it's Quentin. It appears the hoodie is a staple in his wardrobe, but his hair looks really good and soft.

"Quentin," Eliot greets him, surprised, a little pleased. Also confused, given that Quentin doesn't seem to be surprised at all – like he – "How'd you find me?" Eliot asks after a moment.

"Honestly?" Quentin asks, shifting a little in his seat.

"Honesty is the best policy, so I'm told."

Quentin exhales. "My best friend found you based on your name, your job, and the neighborhood in which you said you worked in. It involved going down a deep rabbit hole on Instagram and she got her coworker's brother's sister-in-law, who's apparently bartends in a number of high-end bars, to confirm."

"Who was it?"

"Who was whom?"

"The coworker's brother's sister-in-law."

Quentin blinks a few times and it's kind of cute. "I didn't get a name."

"Pity. I’m curious." Eliot goes back to finishing the cocktail in his hand, pouring it into a martini glass and peeling an orange peel for garnish. "Can I get you something?"

"Uh," Quentin looks down at the bar for the menu, finding it to his right. He opens it and squints in the quasi-dark.

"I can surprise you – any preferences? Sweet, dry…?"

"Strong," Quentin says, shutting the menu.

The corner of Eliot's mouth quirks and he gets to work, choosing four different liquors and taking care to choose a glass that involves little to no chance of spillage or breakage. He sneaks glances at Quentin, who's watching him with interest.

When he's done, sliding the drink to Quentin, now it's Eliot's turn to watch him as he goes for a proper sip. His eyes light up.

"Wow," Quentin sighs. "It's so good. It's strong and it tastes so good."

"Thank you. So, you went through all this trouble to find me, is there something you want?" Eliot asks, laying down the charm maybe a little too thick, but he's having fun watching Quentin be flustered.

"Yeah, uh, actually, it's about…what happened that night. When we…"

"Slept together?" Eliot supplies.

Quentin nods. "Yeah, it's just. I haven't been able to sleep for more than two hours at a time since that night and I'm getting desperate. Like, really, really desperate. Enough to not fight my crazy friend on stalking the internet to find you so I could ask you if we could sleep together." He chugs down a good amount of his drink.

Eliot can't help it – he laughs. 

"What?" Quentin asks, annoyed.

"I'm sorry, it's just…that's how you ask to get me to bed?"

It's dark in here, but Eliot thinks he could feel Quentin's cheeks on fire from the other side of the bar. "I didn't mean – _that _– I meant _sleeping_, being _unconscious_ within proximity of each other! I have a fiancé!"

_Ugh_, Eliot wails, scoffs, sighs in his head. Of-fucking-course. "Okay, so let me get this straight – which I'll do my best considering that I'm most certainly not – you want to sleep within my vicinity…and your fiancé is…?"

"Well, that's the thing…she's temporarily living in campus housing until the rest of the semester as of today. Two days ago she got accepted to submit a paper for this journal, which she didn't think she'd get, so it’s thrown off her schedule for the semester since her workload is already crazy with another paper and an extra class to teach. Now she has a ton of research to do and she wants to live within a block of the library while we live, quote, ‘too far away.’" He pauses, seeming to realize that Eliot definitely is thinking that his fiancé sounds crazy. "She's…super dedicated to her work, so." He shrugs. "She wouldn't have to know." 

“Wow,” is all Eliot has to say.

Quentin raises an eyebrow. "Was that straight enough for you? I'll admit it's hard for me since I'm most certainly not either."

Eliot's face breaks into a slow smile. "Bi?"

Quentin wordlessly takes out his wallet which sports a bi flag on it. "You?" he asks.

"Mmm, I guess gay, but I don't mind a woman now and then. I prefer queer, however I acknowledge the word may offend some and not others, so…"

Quentin nods. "Okay, uh, well. Cool. So...what do you think? I mean, that day it seemed like you thought it meant something."

"I blame the hangover." Eliot catches the two friends lifting their hands to grab his attention. "Excuse me," he tells Quentin.

He completes their drink orders – thankfully they're the same this time, so it doesn't take him long, so he can go back to speaking with Quentin.

"You don't have to decide now; just think about it?" Quentin stands up and takes a twenty-dollar bill and a business card with a name and phone number written on the back from his wallet. "Sorry, I had to steal my friend's business card, but if you need a good lawyer, Julia Wicker is it."

Eliot picks up the card and the typed side – very nice, raised lettering – says Julia Wicker and she's an attorney at a fancy-sounding firm. On the back is Quentin's scrawled handwriting.

"Quentin Coldwater?" Eliot reads out loud in disbelief.

"Don't ask." Quentin chugs the rest of his drink. "Fuck, that was good."

"I gotta ask – what do you do, then?" Eliot asks, quick to take the empty glass from Quentin's hands. "Another?" Eliot offers.

Quentin’s conflicted, so Eliot isn’t surprised when Quentin says, “I can’t. But know in my heart I want it.”

Eliot tries not to smile too widely. “Okay.”

“Please think about it,” Quentin pleads.

Eliot will, but not what Quentin is thinking of, but he nods. “Have a good night. Be sure to grab a baked good on the way out.”

“What’s your favorite?”

“The cranberry scones.”

“Okay. Thanks. And I’m a PhD student, by the way.” He gives an endearing wave before leaving the bar.

By the time he gives the bill to the two friends, one of them, quite intoxicated, comments, “He was _cute_.”

“He sure was, darling, get home safe.”

**

Eliot breaks after three days.

Well...not entirely true.

Margo is the one that finds the card, steals his phone from him, dials the number, and holds it in between them with a ‘don’t fuck with me’ face that he wouldn’t dare fight against.

“_Hello, this is Quentin?_”

“Quentin, hi, this is Eliot, the bar -”

“_Eliot! Hi! I’m so happy you called me back!_”

Margo looks down at the phone, back to Eliot, promptly turns the phone off from speaker, gives the phone back to Eliot and walks away.

Eliot brings the phone to his ear. “So...if we were to theoretically do this...how would it work exactly?”

“_Okay, so I’ve spent the last three days trying to work it out_,” Quentin starts in a rush. “And I have a fantastic solution.”

“Great, let’s hear it.”

“_Okay, so. Alice - my fiancé - is staying in college dorms except Friday nights. So, I was thinking, the rest of the week until the semester ends, you could - I mean, since this would obviously be safer than sleeping on the subway - stay at my place? I know you work late hours, but I can work with that since I consider myself a professional insomniac, so that’s not an issue for me._”

Eliot’s head is spinning. “I’ll get back to inviting a stranger to your apartment in a second - I just...I work until four in the morning on Saturdays and don’t end up leaving until closer to five Where, may I ask, do you live…?”

“_I go to Brakebills, so _-”

Somewhere in between the East Village, Soho, the Lower East Side, then. “Oh, okay, you’re not far that’s...okay, let’s go back to your inviting a stranger to your apartment -”

“_Do you have any better ideas for two not-rich people in one of the most expensive cities in the world?_”

Let’s review:

A car isn’t an option because it’s way too expensive to keep a car in a city that has such an extensive public transportation system. Five hundred bucks a month to keep a car in a garage? Adhering to alternate side parking? No thanks.

Hotel? Hah, hah, hah. Money doesn’t grow on trees.

“Okay...you have a point.”

“_And something else. Since your apartment will be unoccupied most of the time temporarily, for the most part, I have a renter that would not only cover your half, but pay double._”

“That’s fucking crazy. I live in a shoebox with my other half. You want a psycho in _my_ apartment?” Eliot blurts.

“_Other half?_”

“My closest, most wonderful, beautiful friend in the world and I’m not putting her life in danger.”

_“He’s not a psycho, I promise! I’ve known him since freshman year of college. He’s a chef with...a bit of a side business. His living situation is a little complicated, so he would just needs the two months until his lease is up.”  
_  
“This isn’t comforting - what’s the side business?”

“_Edibles. He makes..._really _fucking good edibles. Like, I would not be able to afford his shit the three times a year I buy them if I didn’t get a college friend discount._”

Eliot blinks a few times. “Oh.”

“_He’d usually make them in his apartment, but there’s a bed bug infestation thanks to his roommate who works with street homeless people and unfortunately brought it back before he realized, so...he will pay double, given that he will be doing something illegal in the apartment. But you’ll be indirectly making money out of it!_”

“My friend has to vet him first.”

“_Absolutely._”

Eliot sighs. “This is insane. But sleep sounds better than sex now, so, okay. I’ll talk to my people, you’ll talk to yours.”

“_Great! Oh my god, awesome. I can’t wait. Wait - uh, before you go - what’s your last name? For your contact card?_”

“Waugh - W-a-u-g-h.”

“_Eliot Waugh. Sounds regal._”

Eliot smiles. “Bye, Quentin.”

“_Bye, Eliot!_”

Eliot hangs up. “Bambi! How do you feel about a new, temporary roommate?”

**

Margo listens to the proposition intently. It only takes a minute.

“So...what do you think?”

“Obviously we have to make sure this person leaves some samples, but, otherwise, I might be okay with it.”

“In terms of the extra money -”

“All yours,” she interrupts. “I don’t need it. I’m getting a bonus for Christmas and a raise for the new year, so take the money, use it for the bar, I’m calling investors.”

“What - but -”

“Text Quentin Coldwater about a meeting. They’re buying.”

Eliot obeys her.

**

Eliot, Margo, Quentin, and his friend whose name is Josh, meet at a one because it’s the only time that works for everyone. Quentin is having a soda while the rest of them are drinking well drinks because, as he explains, he has office hours and he knows at least five of his students will be coming by to complain.

Josh is, well...also a dork, especially since he brought paperwork showing his assets and that yes, he can afford to pay. But he seems inoffensive enough. He’s also a little starstruck by Margo, which is understandable since she’s perfect. But he promises to gift Margo free samples of his product as a kind gesture. He also promises to bring leftovers from the restaurant that he works at, so. 

They shake on it. 

“I’ll text you my apartment. Here’s a copy of the keys - this one opens the building, this one opens the apartment,” Quentin says, sticking his hand into his pocket and pulling out two keys, holding them out to him.

Eliot carefully takes the keys from Quentin’s palm. “I’ll probably be there by three.”

“I’ll be up.” Quentin smiles at his own joke and it’s not cute. (It is cute.) He turns to Margo. “It was really nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” She smiles at the both of them. “Have fun.” She turns to Josh. “I have more questions for you.”

“Like…?”

“Do you know who anyone who works in Carbone?”

“No, but I do have an in at Chef’s Table at Brooklyn Fare,” Josh says with a nervous smile.

She smiles slowly and leans in. “Tell me more.”

“Margo has a fascination with getting to exclusive restaurants, best to leave her be,” Eliot says, guiding Quentin out of the bar.

Quentin immediately shivers and quickly buttons his coat. Eliot breathes it in.

“I’ll see you later. I need to grab a coffee so I’m prepared for the monsters.”

“You call your students monsters?”

“All my enemies are called monsters - my dissertation was the Monster, my students are little monsters -”

Eliot laughs. “Okay, I got it.”

“My freshman year roommate was a monster, my Russian history professor was a monster -”

“I promise not to be one,” Eliot cuts him off. “Go get your coffee, although I think alcohol is the better solution to your frustrations.”

“After I get that PhD,” Quentin says and leaves, which makes Eliot laugh all over again.

**

Eliot forgets about it as he works, but once he’s in the last hour, he gets nervous. He has a weekend bag on him since he’s not sure about protocol in terms of showering, figuring he should have at least one or two changes of clothes.

Quentin’s building is easy to find. He lives on the second floor and Eliot takes care to knock softly before unlocking the door. It’s strange, the intimacy of having a key to someone else’s room besides Margo’s.

The apartment is small like most one-bedroom apartments in Manhattan, but it’s very tidy - actually, no, that’s not the right word. It’s...rather lacking of personal items. Nothing besides books and textbooks, clearly divided between Quentin and his fiancé’s respective collections.

“Hey.”

Eliot’s startled when he turns his head to find Quentin standing in the doorway of the bedroom. His hair is pulled into a bun and his sweatpants are big enough that they almost cover his feet and his forearms are a little tan.

Eliot swallows and smiles graciously. “Hello.”

“Bathroom is here.” Quentin points to a closed door to his right. I have a stack of towels for you in case you wanted to freshen up, or whatever, but I’m going to kindly request you bring your own next time just because Alice and I tend to combine our laundry together -”

“I actually brought my own. I thought ahead, but thank you.”

Quentin smiles.

“I’ll be just a few minutes.”

Eliot tends to not sleep in much, but for the sake of propriety, he has silk pants and a matching shirt. He takes care of his face and brushes his teeth and by the time he enters Quentin’s bedroom, he laughs at the little pillows dividing the bed.

“I just...I figured it would make everyone comfortable,” Quentin says, a little embarrassed.

“It’s great,” Eliot reassures him, walking over to the free side of the bed before pausing. “Do you...want me to sleep above the comforter, or -”

“Oh, I changed the sheets! Feel free!” Quentin interrupts him happily. “Alice hates jersey sheets, so I figured I could take advantage of her not being here and use those.”

Eliot doesn’t know what jersey sheets are until he pulls back the comforter and sees that he’ll basically be sleeping in-between t-shirt material. But it’s soft - Quentin clearly takes care to wash them correctly - and warm, so Eliot doesn’t mind.

“I’m setting an alarm for 9:30 - I have a class at 10:30,” Quentin warns him.

“Okay, that’s fine. Six hours of sleep sounds like heaven,” Eliot sighs, lacing his fingers together on top of the comforter. 

Quentin shuts off his bedside lamp and the room is lit by the street lights through the half-shut blinds.

“Goodnight,” Quentin says.

“Goodnight.”

Eliot is afraid it won’t work, that this borderline awkward scenario was just a fluke the first time. But he forces himself to breathe evenly, shut his eyes, and after a minute he’s out.

********

“_Yes_! It worked!” Quentin yells in triumph, but it really comes out as more of a croak.

He punches the air and lets one of his arms fall onto the pillow fort between him and Eliot, his hand accidentally landing on Eliot, who reacts almost violently by sitting up, his hand coming up in a hitting gesture before he blinks, sees Quentin, and groans, falling onto his back.

“You cannot wake me up like that,” Eliot gasps.

“Sorry!” But Quentin still can’t stop grinning. “We slept, it worked!”

Eliot has to blink a few times, and once the fog fears, he smiles in a soft way that takes Quentin a little off guard.

Eliot wordlessly holds up a hand. “You’re only going to get one high-five out of me,” he tells him seriously.

Quentin nods, smiles excitedly, and gives him a high-five.

**

And so, it begins.

What a _difference_ having six hours of sleep makes on a regular basis! He feels _energized_! He has patience with his annoying students who don’t seem to absorb any information whatsoever! He is doing great!

He texts Alice about the good news, but he doesn’t expect her to respond until late tonight - she has a full day today and that’ll be the time she remembers to eat. Hopefully.

After the first three nights, Quentin gets rid of the wall of pillows. It became ridiculous and they both keep to their side of the bed.

Well, except -

Quentin has a few thoughts when he wakes up one Monday morning. The first is that he’s rather missed being the little spoon. The second is that the cock that’s hard against him feels _huge_ and -

_Ohmygod_, Eliot is hung.

_Eliot._

Quentin makes a noise similar to an animal dying slowly and rolls away, half falling off the bed and Eliot, who has woken up, has realized the predicament and is repeating _I’m sorry, fuck shit, sorry_.

He seems really embarrassed, so Quentin goes on a ramble about natural body functions and how he reacted too and it just ended the morning on a weird note. At least until Quentin sends him enough money for an apology coffee.

From Eliot Waugh:  
_Coffee does not cost five dollars._

From Quentin Coldwater:  
_I don’t know your coffee preferences - I was covering my bases! You could very well appreciate a seasonal holiday beverage from Starbucks._

From Eliot Waugh:  
_My vices include alcohol and drugs, not 60 grams of sugar in a caffeinated beverage._

__From Eliot Waugh:  
_I’m debating whether you’re a basic bitch for the PSL, or if you’re the disgusting fuck who puts six packets of sugar into a grande._

From Quentin Coldwater:  
_I go for the liquid cane sugar._

From Eliot Waugh:  
_I’m surprised you have all your teeth._

From Quentin Coldwater:  
_I’m genetically blessed, I will say. Especially given that when my depression is really bad I skip days brushing._

Quentin goes back and forth between feeling okay, or comfortable with revealing such an ugly side of him, and then feeling scared as fuck that he’s revealing something so personal that the only person that really knows is his dad or Julia.

From Eliot Waugh:  
_I needed two root canals due to only managing to brush one half of my mouth during my worst depression-inspired bender. AWFUL._

__Quentin exhales.

From Quentin Coldwater:  
_I’ve only had two cavities :D_

__From Eliot Waugh:  
_I hate you. Thank you for the money that will buy me two coffees._

__From Quentin Coldwater:  
_See you tonight!_

Eliot likes the text and that’s that.

It doesn’t happen again, but sometimes Quentin thinks about it. And tries not to flush. Or get hard.

(He makes sure to jerk off before Eliot arrives a few hours later.)

**

At first, Quentin planned on not mentioning Eliot at all, but he figured that’s not realistic and instead recontextualizes him. Eliot Waugh is a bartender Quentin has met, but not at the glamorous speakeasy with amazing cranberry scones, but a more lowkey bar that Alice refuses to go to after getting food poisoning two years ago.

“You know it’s under different management and the food is fine,” Quentin insists for the fifth time. “I actually had a fried chicken sandwich and it was great. Came with a garlic aioli that was special.”

Alice stares at him blankly for a moment. “No.” 

He shakes his head and picks up his cocktail to drink from. There’s not enough alcohol in it. They’re trying a new American bistro in the West Village and it’s only okay.

“This Eliot doesn’t sound like he fits there,” she says after he puts his drink down.

“No, he says he wants to open his own bar eventually.”

She snorts. “Good luck with that. It’s incredibly expensive and very risky in New York. Did you know that even the most high-end restaurants in the city only manage to break even? It’s ridiculous.”

“You should have one of his cocktails. It’ll put you on your ass after two. I think he’d make it,” Quentin says lightly, even though the urge to be defensive is there.

She hums non-committedly. “I’ll definitely take one after this semester is over.” She looks at her watch and her brow furrows.

“I thought you weren’t going to work tonight - you pulled an all-nighter,” he reminds her.

“Yeah, I know, but the books I requested from Cambridge arrived and I really would like to make a dent in _one_ of them before my scheduled time to work on the -” She goes into a summary of one of the two papers she’s submitting that he has _no_ ability to absorb.

He knew from day one of knowing Alice that she’s always going to be the smartest person in whatever room she walks in. He loves that, he respects that. Though sometimes he feels like they’re on completely different levels of functioning and he’ll never understand what it’s like to see the world through her scientific, god-like brain. And she’ll never understand what it’s like to see the world through his semi-smart brain that malfunctions every once in a while.

“Vix,” he sighs. “Just _one night_.”

She looks at him with that gaze he feels like he’s seeing more and more lately - like she’s a stranger. “An hour. Two max. Then I’m yours.” 

Their food arrives and they don’t speak. Alice is shoveling food into her mouth and Quentin eventually puts his fork down, his plate half cleared.

**

She gets absorbed in her books and he’s tempted to leave, to grab an actual cocktail, but. He half-hopes she’ll realize that this is the only time they have until next week.

She doesn’t. He stares at the ceiling for hours while she sleeps soundly on top of him. Eventually, he carefully gets out of bed and leaves the room.

**

The day before Thanksgiving break, he lets his class talk amongst themselves for the last five minutes since he was on point and got through his lesson plan today. He’s pulling out his laptop to check his work email and he _finally_ has a date and time to meet with his faculty advisor on his dissertation before he can submit it in the beginning of December. He hums under his breath and responds to a couple of his students’ requests to discuss their final papers, extra credit requests…

“Your phone’s vibrating Mr. Q!” one of his trouble-making students calls out.

“Thank you for the most valuable comment you’ve made all day, Dave,” Quentin quips before half the class jeers.

It’s his mother.

“I’ll be right outside,” he tells his students, even though they’re not listening. “Is everything okay?” he asks as soon as he takes the call.

“_What? Of course! I was calling to check in._”

“I’m teaching, Mom.”

“_But I thought you taught at 2:30?_”

“That was last year.”

“..._Shit, sorry Quentin._”

He sighs. “It’s fine - my class is pretty much done. What’s going on?”

He hears her sigh in return. He knows exactly why she’s calling now, but he wants her to say it. “You still there?” he asks a little more petulantly than intended.

“_Sorry, Quentin, I - I know your engagement party is December twentieth, but my friend Denise - you remember her, don’t you? I played tennis with her - she surprised me with an all-girls trip for my birthday - we’re going on a cruise in the Caribbean, it’s going to be _amazing_ -_”

“Sounds really great. Can’t miss that,” Quentin says with so much sarcasm that it weirdly came out genuine.

“_I knew you’d understand - I figured this was also for your friends, right? It’s not really for me. I’ll meet your fiancé another time._”

He bites back a ‘_it’s for me, you selfish bitch_,’ comment, even though it’s extremely difficult. “Sure. Maybe next year.” His grip on his phone tightens. “I gotta go, I have office hours,” he lies. “Speak to you later.”

“_Oh, okay, bye, Quen -_”

He hangs up on her.

**

He tries to get over it. He really does. He grades papers, he begins a rewatch of _Pokemon: Indigo League_ on Netflix because sometimes he wants to pretend he’s eight years old and not twenty-eight.

He considers texting Julia, but he doesn’t want to contend with her epic ranting. If unchecked, she could go at least twenty minutes solely shitting on every neglectful, cruel, stupid thing his mother has done. Sometimes he wants to hear it, sometimes he doesn’t.

So he just festers until two in the morning when he gets ready for bed, looking forward for Eliot to get here so he can pass the fuck out.

He smiles when he hears Eliot knock three times before keying in. He appreciates the consideration. Once the door is shut, Eliot sighs.

“Q, please tell me you’re done with the restroom because I want to be in your bed _tout suite_.”

Quentin ignores the skip in his heartbeat. “Yeah, it’s all yours.”

He hears Eliot walk quickly through the living space until he’s in sight. He looks burned out.

“Busy?”

“It happens - Thanksgiving is around the corner and it’s Mercury in retrograde.”

“You believe in that?”

“I didn’t until I started bartending. Margo agrees with me working with clients. I dated a nurse who swore by it.”

Quentin is too used to Alice and coworkers lengthy rants about why astrology is a crock of shit. He’s always felt a kinship to his zodiac sign - Cancer for life!

“Sorry you had a day.”

Eliot’s eyebrow quirks up. “What? ‘A day’?”

“I just always hated that expression ‘bad day.’ Reminds me of that annoying fucking song that came out in like, 2005 or whatever.”

“_‘Cause you had a bad day, you’re taking one down_?” Eliot half-sings and of course he’s good.

“Yeah, that one. And I don’t know, sometimes I feel like ‘bad day’ downplays it sometimes,” Quentin explains, shrugging his shoulders.

Eliot hums. “I like that. ‘A day.’ Actually, capitalized both words - A Day.”

“Exactly.”

Eliot smiles and walks past Quentin, placing a hand on his head briefly before heading into the bathroom. 

Quentin’s scalp tingles a little.

**

“Hey,” Eliot says, getting into bed.

Quentin nods in greeting.

After a few moments of silence, Eliot sighs. “Okay, I know the arrangement was that we just sleep, but I’m also not against talking a little beforehand. Seems…”

“More friends with benefits than just benefits?” Quentin ventures.

It makes Eliot smile. “Sure.”

Quentin exhales. “It’s just...personal stuff. Deep-rooted issues from my family.”

“All too familiar with that trope.”

“Yeah, so. It’s tired. I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“During times of change, the dysfunction tends to stand out and hurt again.”

Quentin knows there’s more to Eliot than meets the eye, but the glimpses into who he is take Quentin by surprise. Mostly in the way that he finds himself wanting more of it.

“Yeah…I guess that’s true. I’m fine with it otherwise. Or, well...you know.”

“You’ve come to terms with it.”

“Yeah, basically.”

Quentin stares at the ceiling, but quickly becomes bored for it and glances at Eliot, who is already staring at him. “One parent or both?” Eliot asks.

“One - my mother. My dad’s great.”

Eliot smiles wryly. “Can’t relate.”

“My mom is just a narcissist. My parents divorced when I was twelve, like, right when my mental health took its first nosedive. I don’t know why I thought she’d come to my engagement party, but I guess I’m Boo Boo the Fool.” Quentin clenches his jaw to force himself to shut the fuck up. 

“You’re not Boo Boo the Fool for having an expectation that your parents come to a huge milestone in your life,” Eliot says.

“You don’t have to make me feel better, we really...we basically just met each other. I’m sorry for dumping this on you when -”

“Well, I bond fast. Time is an illusion,” Eliot interrupts him with a charming smile. “It’s fine, Q. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“May I ask why she’s not coming to your engagement party?”

Quentin makes sure he’s looking at Eliot when he says, “She’s going on a cruise with her friends.”

Eliot’s reaction is exactly what Quentin wanted: the raised eyebrows, the pure look of horror that melds into disgust. “A _cruise_? She’s passing up on a night in New York to go on a _cruise_? Good _God_.”

“I know. They’re really bad for the environment.”

“They’re disgusting. Did she not pay attention to that cruise in 2013 that had all those issues like the broken septic system?” Eliot shudders. “Horrifying. I would rather live in Staten Island for the rest of my life than to go on a cruise.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. The only instance in which I would choose Staten Island.”

Quentin laughs. “Okay.”

“What, you _like_ Staten Island?”

“I had good Italian food there once.”

“There’s good Italian food in literally every other borough. There is no legitimate reason to go there,” Eliot says with such seriousness.

“I know, but it does have that redeeming quality. It shouldn’t be discounted.”

Eliot rolls his eyes. “You’re too kind.”

“Only sometimes.”

Eliot smiles. “Oh, _really_?”

Quentin smiles and shakes his head. “Goodnight, Eliot. And thanks.”

“My pleasure.”

It’s still a little unnerving how easy it is to fall asleep, but Quentin is finding it to be very relieving, like the first inhalation of air after holding your breath for so long. When he wakes, he’s on his side, legs bent and his hands by his face. He’s facing Eliot, who is sound asleep, thankfully. After the first two months of sharing a bed with Alice, she made a comment that he looks like a child when he’s sleeping in that position, which embarrassed him to no end.

Eliot just looks...elegant. Curls are disheveled and fanning across his pillow, his cheeks a little flushed since the apartment is pretty warm with the sun blasting through the windows. 

Quentin flops onto his back and exhales, stretching his limbs, trying not to think about how nice Eliot looks and instead focusing on what he has to do today. Call his dad, grade at least ten papers, office hours in the morning, three scheduled meetings with students -

He checks his phone and he’s woken up ten minutes before the alarm. He turns it off and carefully slips out of bed. He goes through his closet, takes out a button down shirt and while holding the hanger, he gets a stupid, entertaining idea in his head in that the stupidity should deter him from doing it, but the entertaining portion of it encourages him to go to Eliot’s side of the bed and gently poke him with the hanger.

Eliot jumps up, his arm up and hand curled into a fist, which makes Quentin burst out laughing.

“You’re like that vine,” Quentin laughs, having eventually fell to the floor in hysterics, unable to stand.

“Fuck you,” Eliot gasps, falling back to the bed. After a few seconds of heavy breathing, he adds, “Not even worried about it.”

“Ah!” Quentin exclaims, pleased.

Eliot eventually smiles. “You’re such a nerd.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“No, I’m pretty sure nerds are just very obvious to spot.”

Eliot is a nerd and Quentin likes that.

“Besides, I’m wearing rings - don’t try me bitch,” Eliot adds, wiggling his eyebrows along with the fingers of his hand.

**

“You look so much better,” Julia sighs in relief once they sit down at a bar in her neighborhood that has at least twenty craft beers on tap.

“I feel so much better,” Quentin tells her. “Like, I don’t think I’ve been this well rested in so long.”

“So, you’re still sleeping with Eliot.”

He opens his mouth to argue that it’s not like that, but really, yes it is. He needs to get his head out of the gutter. “Yeah,” he eventually stutters out.

“That’s working out well.”

“Very well.”

“And Alice still has no idea.”

He furrows his brow and takes out his phone, pulling up his texts with her. After the phone call with his mother, he texted her confirming that she wouldn’t be attending the party, to which Alice responded at one in the morning with: _I figured? I crossed her off the list as soon as you added her._ And then followed up that text with, _do you want to grab Thai on Sunday when you come back from Jersey because I’ve been craving massaman curry._

__(Alice isn’t coming to Montclair for Thanksgiving this year.)

It’s been over a day and he hasn’t brought himself to respond. She hasn’t reached out either. 

“She has no idea,” he says with a bit of an attitude that makes Julia’s eyebrow raise.

“What does that mean?”

He exhales. “Nothing. Just. My mother can’t come to the engagement party. Which, _yes_, I know it was dumb of me to hold onto hope -”

“Are you fucking kidding?” Julia essentially growls. “That bitch couldn’t take NJ Transit for an _hour_ to go to her _only child’s _engagement party? Is she really going to pull this shit? Am I -”

He cuts her off before she suggests doing something violent. “Okay, yeah, I know it’s fucked up, my mother _should_ be coming to my engagement party! I invited her, I wanted her to come! And she’d rather go on a cruise! That should cause a reaction of...of indignation and disgust and a little bit of rage.”

“Wait, we’ll go back to her going on a cruise instead of eating at The Smith in a private space. How else are you supposed to react?” Julia asks.

He pulls out his phone again to read Alice’s texts. Julia’s face becomes blank, which means she’s ready to take out her swiss army knife and stab someone.

“Alice is really no-nonsense. And she’s technically right…” Quentin is quick to explain, regretting sharing this with Julia already.

“Quentin.”

“Yes?”

“Do you feel held by Alice?”

“...Are you seriously quoting _Midsommar_ to me right now? I thought you claimed the movie wasn’t about a woman gaining freedom and a family, that it was about an extremely vulnerable woman being manipulated and her subsequent descent to madness. The words ‘cult’ and ‘Scientology’ were thrown around.”

“Yes, I still stand by that, but I mean...that scene was important! And there was a grain of truth to it, right? Her sack of shit boyfriend _wasn’t_ caring for her. She didn’t feel held by him.”

(Honestly, he felt sucker-punched after he watched that scene and he was so grateful that Alice was traveling so he had two days to recover, but he’s kept that to himself.) 

“I usually do,” Quentin says defensively. “We just - we come from different places when it comes to parental figures. Both of hers are absent at best, wildly inappropriate and nosy at the worst. Do you know how many times she’s bumped into them having sex around the house as a kid?”

She grimaces. “Okay. Fine. But your parents aren’t hers. Not everyone has gross, shitty parents. Even though we’ve established that your mother firmly belongs in that category.”

“Alice doesn’t really know much about my mom beyond the fact that she left when I was twelve.”

She blinks a few times. “Wait. You didn’t tell her about your first depressive episode? The hospitalization? Your coming home and her not being there?”

“Yeah, I told her that bit, just not...the other stuff.”

She shuts her eyes and shakes her head. “Q.”

“Alice has taken care of me and I like to think I’ve taken care of her,” he insists. 

She opens her mouth to say something, but her work phone goes off on the table and she picks it up. After a few exchanges, Julia puts the call on mute and says, “I have to go, but don’t keep shit like that from me again.”

“I told Eliot.”

“Fuck you for that doorknob confession,” she hisses before going back to her call, using a false-chipper tone with a matching smile. 

Quentin quickly leaves before the call can end and she can interrogate him.

**

From Julia Wicker:  
_You’re not getting away that easily I can multitask motherfucker!!!_

__From Q:  
_I simply didn’t want to distract you from your very busy job! You are, after all, generously, supplementing the budget for the party and we wouldn’t be able to afford the Smith without you._

From Julia Wicker:  
_You’re so full of shit._

From Julia Wicker:  
_You told Eliot about your mother???_

__From Q:  
_He’s alluded to having mental health issues - it felt like it was okay._

From Julia Wicker:  
_Yeah?_

From Q:  
_Yeah, it’s like we’re really friends. Like even if we somehow manage to sleep properly without each other, we can remain friends._

He watches her type for a bit, then stop, then start again, then stop.

From Julia Wicker:  
_I would like to meet him after Thanksgiving. Make it happen :)_

From Q:  
_I’ll check on his availability._

From Julia Wicker:  
_Great! Can you take a train around 7 or 8 tonight?_

From Q:  
_Yeah, that’s fine, just text me which one you can make and I’ll meet you at Penn._

From Julia Wicker:  
_Xoxo_

Quentin puts his phone away and sighs.

**

Ever since Quentin was thirteen, he and his dad go to the Wicker family’s house for Thanksgiving. While Julia’s mom does most of the cooking, Quentin and Julia have taken to making some sides in his kitchen and transporting them around the corner to her house.

Quentin’s dad isn’t allowed in the kitchen given that his only specialties are eggs, pasta, and pancakes. 

(They had a lot of breakfasts for dinner in his teenage years.)

At one point while waiting for the sweet potatoes to bake with the marshmallows, Quentin pulls out his phone and finds his texts with Eliot.

He’s been near the top lately. 

From Quentin Coldwater:  
_Happy Thanksgiving!!_

He goes to write the same text to Alice when Eliot responds.

From Eliot Waugh:  
_Same to you - have you eaten yet?_

From Quentin Coldwater:  
_No, not for another hour. But I’m really just looking forward to the turkey sandwiches for dinner._

From Eliot Waugh:  
_I never understood having the meal for lunch. It’s just so much food!_

From Quentin Coldwater:  
_Yeah, but it’s something you eat all day!_

From Eliot Waugh:  
_How you can eat all that for multiple meals is mind boggling._

__From Quentin Coldwater:  
_Are you doing anything with Margo?_

From Eliot Waugh:  
_We have a reservation at Le Coq Rico later and then we planned to get sloshed on wine and try one of Josh’s reputable edibles._

__From Quentin Coldwater:  
_I know you’re seasoned, but go easy, he’s very generous._

From Eliot Waugh:  
_Is it considered generous when you have to pay an arm and a leg for one? But I’ll heed your warnings. I’ll let you know how it goes._

__From Quentin Coldwater:  
_I’m jealous, I wish I had one. But I will before Christmas. It’s going to be my best gift._

From Eliot Waugh:  
_It better be worth the hype, or I’ll never forgive you. _

“Who are you texting?” Julia asks.

Quentin blinks a few times. He didn’t know he was smiling. “Eliot. He’s going to try a Josh edible for the first time.”

She throws her head back and groans. “What I wouldn’t do to go back in time and relive my first time.”

“That’s what he said.”

“Nice one.” They high-five. “Remember - I’m meeting him!”

From Quentin Coldwater:  
_My BFF Julia requests a meeting. Are you free next week?_

From Eliot Waugh:  
_How about Tuesday? I’m meeting with investors early that day so you can hear all about it._

From Quentin Coldwater:  
_WHAT! OMG!!! This is huge!!! Your dream is coming true!!_

__From Eliot Waugh:  
_Let’s not get too hasty, but...the future is potentially looking bright._

From Quentin Coldwater:  
_Tell me all about it Monday night!!_

From Eliot Waugh:  
_I’ll be there at ten._

When Quentin looks up from his phone, Julia is staring at him.

“Oh, hun,” she sighs.

“What?” he asks. “What is it?”

********

Eliot puts down his phone carefully on the table and recrosses his legs. He picks up his glass of wine and promptly finishes it.

“You like him,” Margo states flatly.

“He’s engaged,” he reminds her.

“That ain’t married.” She holds her hand out expectantly. He hands her his phone and she plugs in his code.

He watches her face as she scrolls up on his texts with Eliot, her brow furrowing after a few seconds. While Q and Eliot have a history of not talking as much before they sleep, they text a lot. 

The waiter comes back and refills his glass. He promptly orders another bottle.

She skims through most of the exchanges, focusing on some. He gets nervous when she frowns. Once she’s done, she looks up at him.

“El,” she starts. “You alluded to It. The Ultimate Bad Thing.”

“I’m aware.”

“You _like_ him.” But the way she says it this time makes his chest hurt a little.

“You should see his fiancé, she’s fucking beautiful,” he snips as he picks up his glass and takes a long drink from it.

She puts his phone back on his side of the table and crosses her arms, leans back in her chair. “What’s a girl to do?”

“I’d say go on a fucking bender, but I should actually be an adult and finalize my pitch.”

“Well, we can go on a mini-bender. At least through Friday, have Saturday to recover, then Sunday and Monday will be full-plan mode.”

He lifts his glass and they cheers to that.

**

The Ultimate Bad Thing. Ah, yes.

Eliot has had a lot of Bad Things in his life. Stemming from childhood - growing up depressed in bumfuck Indiana with homophobic parents and brothers. A particularly abusive father. Bullies in school. He thinks he was partially responsible for the accident that killed one of them, but that’s a long story. Using food as a coping mechanism and then graduating to drug use. 

Remaking himself into the Eliot Waugh he wished he was.

Then the Ultimate Bad Thing.

The anniversary is Monday. It’ll really be a test if he can still sleep even with Quentin there. He plans on trying this radical thing of being sober - he thinks he’s ready for it.

At least until he gets a text from Quentin, who asks Eliot to come to his apartment earlier for dinner - he has leftovers from Thanksgiving and he apparently makes a great Thanksgiving sandwich.

Eliot isn’t really one for sandwiches unless they’re tea sandwiches, but he knows Q made his cranberry sauce and helped with the stuffing, so he agrees and brings a bottle of Pinot Noir and a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc since he doesn’t know if Q’s a red or a white person.

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that - I have vodka, gin, and whiskey and a six pack.”

“Never offer me beer again.”

Quentin lifts his hands in a surrendering gestures and lets Eliot inside.

“Are you nervous for tomorrow?” Quentin asks halfway through eating.

Eliot has abandoned eating his sandwich with his hands and is digging in with a fork and knife. “A bit, but I’m mostly focusing on not going over to your cabinet and taking that vodka.”

“It’s Titos.”

He grimaces a little. “Gin, then.”

“Rogue Spruce.”

Eliot doesn’t bother to hide his judgment. “Q. Come on.”

“I have Bulleit.”

“I’m assuming that was a gift, you cheap ass.”

Q laughs. “Yeah. Julia.”

“I’ll tell her she needs to update the rest of your liquor cabinet.”

“No arguments from me.” He takes a bite of his sandwich. “So, the urge to drink isn’t stemming from the meeting?”

Eliot wets his bottom lip. “Today is the anniversary of a Bad Day. The Ultimate Bad Day.”

Quentin frowns.

“I usually spend today so drugged that Margo has to supervise me, so this is the first time in seven years I’ve been sober this day. Or eight, technically. I wasn’t sober when it happened, so.”

Eliot’s on the fence about sharing, but Quentin is stronger than he looks and he’s not a stranger to loss.

“I know I’ve given the impression that I’ve never had a serious romantic relationship in my life, but once upon a time, I was madly in love with Mike McCormick.” The name still feels like it gets stuck in his mouth, like glue. “He was gorgeous, supportive...and he cheated on me during most of the relationship. Which I found out today, seven years ago. I told him to fuck off and die and he left and got hit by a drunk driver and died immediately.”

He chances a glance at Quentin, whose eyes are soft. “Unless you’re a wizard, you didn’t have any control over that. It’s just...a really fucked up coincidence.”

Eliot sighs. “I know. Most days I know that.”

“I’m sorry you didn’t get the chance to fix things with him.”

Eliot almost smiles. “You know, I figured out pretty early on in the grieving process that there wasn’t really anything to fix. I told him...deeply personal things that I don’t tell anyone. I don’t think I would’ve had the grace to have an open mind.”

“I think you’re really open-minded.”

“You think too highly of a farm boy from Indiana.”

Q’s eyes widen and he stops chewing. 

“Yes, that’s right. Indiana. East of Jesus.”

“A farm?” Q repeats, questioning. 

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Unfortunately.”

Q smiles. “It doesn’t matter. I think generally it doesn’t, but it really doesn’t to me. I just have a lot of questions.”

“Oh dear.”

“Did you actually get to hold baby pigs?”

Eliot slowly smiles. “Yes.”

Quentin’s eyes light up and his jaw drops. “Wow. Wow.”

“You’re impressed by my origin story solely because I was able to hold baby animals?”

“You’ve held _more_ of them?”

So, Eliot tells him a little bit about growing up on a farm. The chores he had to do with his brothers at five in the morning and after school. At least until high school when the family didn’t want him contaminating the farm, or whatever inappropriate, hurtful thing they said to him at the time.

When they’re in Q’s bed, the room dark and warm and safe, Eliot admits to what he did to another gay boy in high school. He doesn’t like prodding at that memory since it hurts more sharply than a lot of things because of the shame.

Q holds Eliot’s hand under the covers and Eliot grips tightly.

“I downplayed it. My mental illness. I attempted suicide at sixteen. Pills. But then I freaked out and called 911. Was hospitalized for two weeks and had to be on an antidepressant for two years with only my dad having access to them,” Quentin states in a flat tone.

Eliot swallows the sudden lump in his throat. “Come here,” Eliot says, gently tugging his hand.

Q shifts close enough so Eliot can put an arm around him, pulling him closer so Q can rest his head on his chest, which Q is hesitant to do until Eliot runs a hand through his hair. Q has an arm across Eliot’s stomach.

“I like that,” Q admits, his voice muffled.

“Me too.”

“I like this. I miss doing this. Julia and I used to do it all the time when we were younger.”

He’s always done it with Margo - maybe it’s making up for the lack of affection as a child. Who knows. But he knows the feelings are different here, which isn’t good. At all. And he thinks about saying something when his body becomes heavy and it’s harder to keep his eyes open, but Quentin is warm and his hair smells nice, so he just falls asleep.

And when they wake up, their faces a few inches away from each other. Quentin smiles at him and presses his forehead against Eliot’s, which makes Eliot stop breathing for a moment.

“Good luck today,” Q says.

“Thanks, Q.” Eliot kisses Q’s forehead and slowly sits up. “Would you mind if I stole a cup of coffee?”

“Use the London one so we can share it,” Q says as Eliot walks to the kitchen.

Eliot rolls his eyes. He doubts Alice is even noticing, judging by what Q is telling him, but he respects Q’s wishes and takes the outrageously large mug that features an outline of the London skyline.

“Actually, you know what -”

Eliot turns to find Q had rushed to get out of bed to stand in the kitchen. “Use whatever mug you want.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Eliot puts the mug back in the cupboard. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

“Maybe tonight after a few drinks.”

“Alright.” Eliot takes out another mug for Quentin. “Is this a four sugar day or something less?”

“Two. The four will be tomorrow when I submit the Monster.”

“Finally done sitting on it?” Eliot teases.

“I want it off my chest. I might just float into the stratosphere when it’s out of my hands.”

“I’ll be sure you don’t fly away.”

Q visibly brightens and Eliot, funnily enough, feels like he’s just fallen and he didn’t realize he was on the edge of something.

Fuck.

**

Eliot comes the meeting dressed to the nines. He speaks with confidence and showcases his plans and his drink menus and...it goes really well.

Well enough that one of the investors has a potential property in the Lower East Side that could work for him.

Hands are shook, plans are made for another meeting come the New Year, and once he and Margo are waiting on the subway to head uptown, he starts laughing and maybe crying a little, but it’s fine, weirder things have happened on a subway platform.

“You were great, baby,” Margo says, hugging him tightly.

“I’m feeling really weird,” Eliot says, his voice cracking.

“It’s called success, get used to it.”

Eliot smiles into her hair.

“We’re celebrating, right? You’re going to take a night off and go out?”

“I was just off for Thanksgiving -”

“Special occasion! Besides, you’re covering Hanukkah for Carly, that bitch owes you.”

He sighs. “Okay.”

He texts Quentin that the meeting went well and he gets a few texts in response: _amazing!!!, I knew it would go well, did you settle on a location???, never mind, I’m seeing you in a few hours, but I’m excited!!_

“I really like a taken man,” Eliot sighs once they pass Union Square.’

“Fuck. I figured.”

“I don’t want to be twenty-year-old me not giving a shit about girlfriends.”

“I know.”

He’d rather not spend time with Quentin outside of his bedroom (and doesn’t that just sound so _dirty_), but he meets him and his best friend Julia Wicker. They have the closeness and knowledge of each other that only childhood friends seem to have.

She also has a _really_ strong handshake.

Julia is definitely cut from the same cloth as Margo with the _don’t fuck with me_ looks, which Eliot has always liked, so he enjoys her, the stories she has of little Quentin. She seems _extremely _interested in learning about him, which he immediately figures is bad for him, given that she’ll probably make partner at whatever fancy firm she’s at in no time.

Still, he thinks he passes the night since she initiates a hug when they part ways, which is infinitely more pleasant than her handshake.

“You smell nice,” she points out.

“Thank you,” Eliot says at the same as Quentin saying, “Right?”

Julia looks at Quentin with a glint in her eye. “Goodnight, boys. Sleep tight.”

**

Their bodies are too close to each other when they wake up in the morning. Eliot is able to slip out and not disturb Quentin, taking his phone from his nightstand as he furiously texts Margo:

From Eliot Waugh:  
_I want to get obliterated on Thursday kthx_

From Margo Hanson:  
_Leave it to me._

Eliot is not prepared, but he should’ve been, for Thursday when it seems like half the people they’ve known since college arrive at a bar in the Lower East Side to celebrate Eliot’s success, but it’s great because he drinks for _free_.

The night is going very well until he bumps into Quentin and his group of friends.

Fact, as brought up earlier: New York City may have eight million residents, but the island of Manhattan is small as fuck and you will run into people you know. It’s an inevitability.

“I submitted the Monster!” Quentin says, a huge, drunk grin on his face.

“We’re the poster children for success stories,” Eliot says, draping an arm around his shoulders. “What’s your plan?”

“Karaoke!”

Eliot will not say no to that, so they take over a bar with a karaoke set on the main floor. He thinks he’s been here before, but things are a little blurry. He tries to look for Alice in the group, but he quickly finds the platinum blonde fiancé is not there.

“Julia, where’s Alice?” Eliot asks quietly as they wait at the bar for drinks.

“She didn’t want to come - had an early morning meeting. They got into a fight about it, so don’t bring it up,” she answers, throwing in a threatening look.

“Jesus, he submitted his dissertation,” he mutters.

“Fucking tell me about it.” She hands over her credit card and tells the bartender to keep it open. “Put his drink on mine.” She looks to him. “Congrats on the bar, by the way.”

“Thank you.”

She rubs his arm and joins the group. “I’m singing ‘One Week,’ get out of the fucking way!”

Julia may stumble onto that little stage, but she sings that Barenaked Ladies song perfectly.

**

He browns out parts of the night from here, but he does remember singing “Take On Me” with Quentin, who cannot sing to save his life, but it’s okay, Eliot has enough talent for the two of them. And he remembers how hot his body felt when their knuckles grazed during _it’s no better to be safe than sorry_.

There’s also video proof which he sees the next morning in between having the spins in Margo’s bed.

“You better hope none of his friends have that bit on their social media because it looks bad.”

Eliot can only groan.

Eventually, when he’s well enough to stand for more than a minute, he checks his phone to see a text from Quentin.

From Quentin Coldwater:  
_I’m never drinking with you and your friends again. I haven’t stopped vomiting._

From Quentin Coldwater:  
_I wish it wasn’t Friday because I want to sleep so badly but I know I won’t. Any chance for a quickie?_

__Eliot laughs out loud.

From Eliot Waugh:  
_You just can’t wait, huh?_

From Quentin Coldwater:  
_I know that was a double-entendre shut up but yes. Would Margo mind if we did it in her bed?_

__From Quentin Coldwater:  
_I know you’re laughing STOP LAUGHING._

**

They do get a quickie in, with Margo’s blessing.

Eliot tries to ignore Quentin’s sniffling, but eventually he pulls him closer and lets him cry it out.

**

“Q.”

“I know.”

“What the fuck is wrong with your heat.”

Eliot is already feeling himself schvitzing and Quentin is standing in his apartment with shorts and nothing else. His hair is in a bun.

“I called the super, he’s coming tomorrow - I have every window open!” Quentin whines.

“Is it just on full blast and you can’t turn it down?”

“Basically.”

Eliot sighs. “Okay. Let me strip.”

He tries to be modest, but eventually he loses his shirt and stands by the wide open window. While he’s pressing a highball glass of Bulleit with ice against his neck, his phone vibrates with a call from Margo. 

“Hi, Bambi.”

He stops breathing when he hears her sniffling. “_Which fucking apartment does Quentin live in so I can ring the goddamn bell?_”

“He’s 2B, I’ll let you in,” Eliot says, nearly slipping on the wooden floors to get to the call box, buzzing her in.

He opens the door and his heart drops to the floor when he sees her mascara down her face, her lipstick faded to nothing. “What happened?” he asks, shutting the door behind her.

She opens her mouth, then stares at him, and closes it. Opens it again. “Did I interrupt something?”

“No, it’s just really fucking hot in here. You’ll feel it in a minute. What happened?”

“I had a _Legally Blonde_ moment,” she says, wiping her face.

He furrows his brow in confusion until it clicks.

“Professor Callahan.”

Eliot turns to find Quentin in the doorway of his bedroom, a frown on his face.

Margo grimaces and nods. “I know I’m fucking good at what I do, but this _fucking_ piece of shit thinks he can put a hand on my fucking leg and get me to suck his dick for a promotion? Time’s Up, motherfucker,” she rants, but it breaks his heart when her voice cracks. “Sorry, Quentin, it’s -”

“Don’t apologize. Seriously,” Q interrupts her. “Do you want tea or...if you want to stay, you can, I can give you some clothes to change into.”

“Oh, now I feel it, Jesus,” Margo hisses, handing off her bag to Eliot as she strips off her coat, scarf, and takes off her sweater, revealing a lacy bralette. He watches with amusement as Q averts his eyes and goes to the kitchen.

“You’ll break his brain, come on.” Eliot gently leads Margo into the bedroom to give her a pair of shorts to put on at least.

They take turns taking cold showers and when Eliot gets out of his, he finds Margo resting her head against Q’s shoulder, his hand running gently up and down her arm. He looks up at Eliot and gives him a sad smile.

He doesn’t know what Q said to her, but when they’re brushing their teeth in his tiny bathroom, she says quietly, “He’s really sweet.”

Eliot can only nod in agreement.

The tea Quentin makes is left untouched and Eliot almost immediately regrets being in the middle of them in his bed, which is a little too small for all of them and he’s extremely overheated, but under better environmental conditions, this could actually be really nice.

**

A few things happen the next morning:

The first: Eliot wakes up to Q suddenly sitting up and his exclaiming, “Alice!” which immediately wakes him and Margo up.

From Eliot’s quick calculations: all three of them in bed, with minimal clothing - it looks very bad.

“What the _fuck_ is going on? And why is it so hot in here?” Alice half-screeches.

“I text you last night that something is busted with the radiators - it’s going to be fixed today! And it’s just to sleep, I swear! I know it looks really bad, but trust me, Vix -”

“_Don’t _fucking call me that! And _sleep_? Seriously? You expect me to believe that bullshit?”

Alice storms out of the room and Q follows after her, explaining that his insomnia has gotten to the point that he got desperate, that he and Eliot bumped into each other one night and found out that they could sleep when they were near each other, so that’s what they’ve been doing for the last couple of weeks.

Once Eliot has more clothes on, he peeks his head out and adds, “It’s true. I haven’t been sleeping properly since I was a kid.”

Alice has fire in her eyes, wordlessly warning him to keep his mouth shut. 

“I’m only here because of a hashtag-Me-Too situation, I needed my friend,” Margo says, not fearing anything. She puts a hand on Eliot’s arm. “I know you don’t know me, but it’s true. They literally just sleep. It’s boring.” She gets on her toes and kisses Eliot on the jaw. “Thanks. I’ll see you later. Time to get Callahan-wannabe’s ass fired.”

“Is he has hot as Victor Garber?” Eliot questions.

“No.”

“Do your worst.”

Margo smiles and goes to Quentin, making a point to hug him. “Thank you,” she says.

Q hugs her back briefly and nods. “Good luck.”

Margo leaves the apartment so it’s just the three of them.

“I know I should’ve told you, it’s just - you’re so busy and I didn’t want you to worry, and I was _so desperate_. I swear it’s nothing more than that,” Q says, pleading.

Eliot swallows and nods, a fake smile on his face.

Alice looks between them with less rage and more skepticism. “You really sleep?”

“Yes. I promise.”

Eliot runs his teeth over his bottom lip and waits for Alice to think through. He remembers one night when he felt generous to ask about her and Quentin had described that watching her think could be so engrossing. He kind of sees it - almost as if her brain is running through analyses and codes. Maybe they’re both just zeros and ones, figuring probabilities.

“I want proof. Tonight,” she tells Q before whipping her head to look at Eliot. “What time do you get off work?”

“I’m off tonight.”

“Be here at nine.”

Too early, but Eliot agrees and proceeds to get the fuck out of there.

**

He calls Margo as soon as he’s a few blocks away.

“I think she’s going to watch us sleep. Help me,” Eliot complains.

“_I’m surprised she didn’t laser off your dicks with her eyes. Bitch has crazy eyes,_” Margo says with pure admiration.

“Loop back to having sympathy for your best friend.”

“_Sorry. Just lick your wounds in my room and don’t mess with the kitchen. Josh is making a batch._”

“Please tell him I would like to buy four for the holidays.”

“_I already got a baker’s dozen, I got you._”

“I love you.”

“_Bye - wish me luck and text me that Julia’s number in case I need some legal muscle._”

Eliot does that and sends a text to Julia informing her of Margo’s situation, to which Julia responds with a gif from _Clue_ (“...Flames, on the side of my face…”).

It’s when Eliot is in his shower does he realize that even though the jig is up, he is _way_ more enmeshed in Q’s personal life than he ever could’ve imagined.

**

Eliot is sure to wear proper, matching pajamas when he comes back to Q’s apartment that night. They’re silk and beautiful, but still no hint of sexyiness to be had when buttoned all the way.

Q seems to have the same idea since he’s wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt.

At least the heat in the apartment is fixed.

“Are you just...going to sit there?” Q asks Alice, who is sitting on a chair she dragged from the living room.

“Yep.”

Eliot sneaks a glance at Q, who glances back. 

They both get into bed and the three of them stare at each other.

“I don’t think anyone would be able to fall asleep with your staring at them,” Q points out.

Alice rolls her eyes. “Fine. I’ll read. But I’ll know when you’re faking.”

Eliot turns to Q and mouths, ‘How?’

“Always trust Alice to find a way.”

Eliot shakes his head and smiles in disbelief. He shuts his eyes since he feels Alice staring at him.

After a minute, under the blankets, he feels Q’s fingers slowly make contact with his hand. Eliot smiles a little and laces their fingers together.

“‘Night El.” Pause. “‘Night, Alice.”

“Goodnight everyone,” Eliot says.

He’s almost afraid that in the end, he won’t be able to fall asleep, but eventually, maybe a bit longer than usual, he does find himself drifting to sleep. He focuses on the warmth of Q’s hand on his to help him get there.

**

Eliot wakes to Alice’s shrill alarm.

He’s still holding Q’s hand.

“Jesus,” Alice mutters, turning off her alarm. “Well, I was proven wrong. It happens on occasion.”

Q rolls onto his stomach and groans. “Mmhmm.”

Alice stands up and winces as she stretches. “I’m sorry. Remarkably, you guys really did fall asleep within twenty minutes. And didn’t wake up. At least between ten and three in the morning when I passed out.” She turns to Quentin. “I know you weren’t even sleeping half that amount of time. I’m sorry.”

Quentin smiles at her and Eliot looks away, taking a breath before getting out of his - their - bed. “I’ll be on my way. Thank you, Quentin, for the REM cycles.”

Quentin looks up at him and blinks. “Yeah, uh, same here. Maybe we’ve managed to break whatever insomnia we had? The timing is great since Alice has finished her work early, which isn’t a surprise.”

“I like the optimism,” Eliot lies. “May I use the restroom before I leave?”

They both gesture to the bathroom at the same time. Eliot grabs his belongings and avoids looking in the mirror, getting dressed quickly and leaving the apartment just as fast.

The cold is brutal and he will swear until the cows come home that the tears are because the wind is blowing into his eyes.

********

It hits Quentin at four in the morning, Alice asleep beside him, that he feels so fucking anxious for the future that he can’t get himself to relax. It’s so obvious that he feels like a moron for not figuring it out sooner.

He unlocks his phone and contemplates texting Eliot, but he ends up pulling up a coloring app until his phone is close to dying.

And in the morning when he Alice wakes up, he lies and says he slept well.

**

“Q. You look like shit,” Julia states.

Quentin does look like shit, there is no arguing that. He also feels like shit. After going weeks with getting proper sleep, going back on this bullshit has caused him to deteriorate quickly. He’s begged Julia for some of her concealer, which he’s currently spinning on the table.

He has a hot americano with six pumps of the caramel brulee syrup because it’s _festive_. 

“What is Alice saying?”

“I’m fucking lying to her about my sleep, she thinks I’m doing great. I’m saying it’s the stress of grading all my monsters’ papers. Which are all garbage. All of them.”

“I doubt they’re all garbage.”

“Too many of them are.”

“Okay, so she’s just assuming those designer bags under your eyes are…?”

“Light sleep due to stress.”

She shuts her eyes and shakes her head. “Q.”

“I just need to get through the party and then I can…” he trails off. He doesn’t know what.

**

He misses Eliot.

He finds himself wanting to text him, but he doesn’t. He misses his take on his life. He misses watching his face as he wakes up in the morning, if he managed to wake up a minute before the alarm.

And when the sun rises on the day of his engagement party, he realizes a few things:

His anxiety is rooted in his relationship with Alice. It keeps him awake at night. This party solidifies their engagement, their eventual marriage, their future, and -

And.

He spends the day trying to be excited, but his stomach is in knots and he dozes at the kitchen table while Alice is out the door to pick up one of her friends from college at Penn Station.

Maybe it’ll be easier after tonight, maybe he’ll be able to sleep next to Alice again, but -

**

Quentin stops short of the doorway to The Smith in the East Village.

Alice goes through the first set of doors until she realizes that he isn’t following her. She comes back outside. “Q? What’s wrong?”

He looks at The Smith, looks at her, and he feels like this weight on his chest since he hastily proposed to her is crushing him, but at the same time, he knows it can disappear with just a few words.

He exhales a laugh, but it’s not funny. “Fuck, uh...I don’t know when my life became a mediocre rom com, but…” He stops talking, looking at her and _of course_ she already knows. “I know you’re five steps ahead of me as always, I know you know, but can you just...give me a second?” He sniffles, embarrassed.

Alice’s bottom lip quivers for a moment before she purses her mouth, clenches her jaw and nods.

“I...I love you. I do, but I don’t know if getting married is the right thing. For me. Maybe for you, I don’t really know anymore. Which I guess is the point. I feel like we became strangers this semester. And I don’t know if it’s just a one time thing or if this is just showing what it’ll be like. You’ll always be super busy and I’ll be left waiting for you.”

“You were supportive - you encouraged me,” she points out, almost as an accusation.

“I know! And I still don’t regret it. I know your work is so important to you. I would never want to - to stifle you in any way. And I feel like I would, eventually. I’ll get depressed or anxious and you’ll feel obligated to hold me, and -”

“That’s not fair.”

“It’s not! I know it’s me, it’s totally me and it’s not you. And I’m really fucking sorry for doing this now.”

She looks up to hold back tears. “If not now then when?”

He thinks of the rest of Jimmy Eat World’s “For Me This is Heaven” and wonders if Eliot has listened to the genius that is _Clarity_. Alice never liked emo bands.

“Okay, well,” she starts, sniffling and then setting her shoulders, as if pressing down her emotions to go into planning mode. “Since we’re no longer engaged, I’ll return the ring.”

“You can give it to my later, that’s not -”

She’s already taking off her left glove and slipping the ring off her finger. She offers it between two fingers. He holds out his palm so she doesn’t have to touch him.

“As for the party that is about to happen in the basement…” she starts. “Shall we do a joint announcement? Seems like a waste of space.”

“You can take it. As long as Julia can get the mac and cheese to go, it’ll be fine. I think that’s why she even helped pay for it. She wouldn’t have done it if we picked another place.”

Alice snorts.

“But you can stay. Your friends can stay. Mine can get the fuck out.”

“You’ll have to move out of the apartment. Since I’m paying more than half of the rent,” she points out.

“Let me know when I can get my stuff. I’m just going to Jersey on Christmas Eve, so…”

“Before the New Year is fine. Just let me know - I’ll make myself scarce,” she interrupts him.

They both exhale. 

“I’m really sorry,” he says to fill the silence.

She looks at him sadly. “I know you are. Maybe in this case, you were five steps ahead of me.”

He wipes his face. “So...shall we?”

She looks back at the restaurant and then at him. “I’ll do it.” She moves to walk away, but stops herself short. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry too. It wasn’t just you.” She gives him a watery smile. “Now seriously, get some fucking sleep.”

Q laughs and Alice goes inside the restaurant.

He cries a little and looks like a whack job on Third Avenue as he texts Julia, knowing she’ll not react well to Alice’s announcement without his confirmation. She responds quickly.

From Julia Wicker:  
_I LITERALLY CAN’T RIGHT NOW._

__From Julia Wicker:  
_HOW COULD YOU DO THIS._

From Julia Wicker:  
_Alice just told me that I could wait for an order of mac and cheese to go you’re forgiven._

From Julia Wicker:  
_Tell me everything tomorrow after you sleep!!!_

From Q:  
_Is it really shitty if I do that?_

From Julia Wicker:  
_Honestly, probably, but you know what, don’t shove it in people’s faces and you’re good. Life is too fucking short._

From Q:  
_I’ll call you tomorrow <3_

__From Julia Wicker:  
_GO FINISH THIS ROM COM OF A NIGHT!_

Nervous, but definitely inspired, he tries to call Eliot, but goes directly to voicemail. He calls Margo, half-afraid that she might have him blocked, but he’s happy at least that it’s ringing.

“_Hello, Margo speaking?_” Margo answers, polite.

“Is it Eliot with you? I need to talk to him. Like, urgently. Right now.”

“_I’m sorry, I thought you were attending an event tonight?_”

“He’s right fucking there isn’t he? And yeah, I was, but now I’m not. I even got the ring back.”

Silence.

“..._What?_”

“Where do you live? I’m coming up town. You’re near the Q, right?”

“_Y-Yeah…_” she stutters. He didn’t think she was capable of stuttering.

“Great, I’ll be there in a half hour. Text me the address.” He hangs up.

He starts walking west to catch the Eighth Street stop on the R line, but he figures if he’s going to commit to a rom com night, then waiting six minutes for the subway and waiting another eight for the transfer is not dramatic at all.

He flags down a cab and tells him to head to 86th Street and 2nd Avenue while he waits for a specific address.

His phone blows up with texts from his friends, but once he gets a text from Margo, he promptly shuts his phone off and exhales.

**

Quentin buzzes into Eliot and Margo’s apartment and is promptly let in.

Margo answers the door with a threatening smile. “You hurt him, I murder you and dump your body into the East River.”

“Make it the Hudson so I can at least float back to Jersey to be collected by my father.”

Her smile broadens. “Later, Coldwater.”

He shuts the door once she leaves and he can hear Eliot pacing.

“El?”

The pacing stops. Then there are footsteps and Eliot is there. He looks just as tired as Quentin does.

“Hi,” Quentin says.

“Hi.”

Quentin chews on his bottom lip and fiddles with the ends of his scarf. “I, uh. Well...I’m not engaged anymore.” He fumbles for the ring in his pocket to show him. “I told Alice I couldn’t marry her. I...uh...did you ever see _Midsommar_?”

“...No.”

“You know of it, though. The horror movie that takes place in Sweden? About the festival?”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

Quentin is flabbergasted for a moment. “Okay, whatever, but basically in the movie this guy asks this girl who is in this horrible relationship if she feels held by him and obviously she doesn’t. And I’ve been asking myself this for a while - maybe ever since I proposed to her - if I felt held by her and I think I figured out really quickly that I didn’t, not in the ways that I needed, so.” He exhales.

“Okay...so...what does that have to do with me?” Eliot asks slowly, taking a step closer.

Quentin laughs, exasperated. “It means you’ve listened to me bitch about my mother, you didn’t cringe when I brought up having suicidal thoughts in the past, when I told you I tried to take my own life. You’ve actually read parts of my dissertation when I was stuck on wording. You actually make me feel like I’m not itching to get out of my skin. I can actually _sleep_ with you.” He shrugs his shoulders. “You’ve been nothing but supportive when it comes to all the monsters in my life.”

“Oh,” Eliot exhales. He purses his lips together and Quentin thinks about kissing him in the future. 

“So...what do you think?” Quentin asks, rocking on the balls and heels of his feet. 

“Well…” Eliot starts, his expression soft and vulnerable in a way that Quentin hasn’t seen really before. “I suppose when you put it like that, I guess...I feel held by you too.”

Tears sting in Quentin’s eyes, but in the best way.

“I know this goes against my character, but, do you want to go to bed?” Eliot asks, dabbing the corner of his eye with his finger. He pauses when he realizes what he’s said. “I mean that in the G-rated way.”

“Maybe we can make it PG,” Quentin suggests. “But yes, absolutely, I’m so fucking tired. But what about Josh?”

“He already went home to Vermont.”

Quentin frowns. “Margo didn’t have to leave -”

“Oh no, she definitely wants to find a hot stranger, don’t worry about her, I was bringing her down,” Eliot clarifies quickly. He walks past Quentin and opens the door to presumably to his room. “You’ll get to experience my superior mattress.”

Quentin walks inside and immediately takes off his coat, scarf, and hat, draping it across a nearby chair. The bedding looks luxurious in such an Eliot way that he nearly trips getting his shoes off so he can get under the covers faster.

“Here,” Eliot says, offering a pair of pajama pants.

“Thanks.”

Eliot turns away from him and goes toward his side of the bed, turning on the bedside lamp and then going toward the door to turn off the ceiling light, so the room is dimmer, warmer.

Quentin likes Eliot’s clothes - his stitched vests, his fitted button-down shirts, his beautifully fitted pants, his leather boots, but he also likes him in a plain t-shirt. He almost teases him about it, how he can own something as basic as a Hanes shirt, but he’s getting sleepy and he crawls into bed, sighing as he settles in.

He hears Eliot laughing a little under his breath. He opens his eyes and Eliot is a few inches away, his eyes already shut. He’s smiling.

Quentin is about to say that he can’t wait to go to sleep, but he just passes out instead. It’s all very fitting.

********

Eliot takes his time waking up, relishing in having slept properly for the first time in his own bed.

“Your bed is _way_ better,” Q mumbles at one point.

Eliot smiles. “We didn’t make it PG.” He opens his eyes and Q is still in the same position he was hours ago. “We didn’t even move.”

“We were too tired. I’m sure we’ll more than make up for it in the future.”

“That was dirty.”

“And that was intentional,” Q points out happily.

Eliot stares unabashedly at Q’s mouth. “Do you need time?” he asks him.

“Probably.”

“Do you _want_ time?”

Q bites his bottom lip. “Not really.” He clumsily leans in and pecks Eliot on the mouth.

Eliot keeps him close, a hand on the back of his neck to guide him back. Their breaths are not great and Eliot’s own neck is a little stiff from being in the same position for hours, but he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Q pulls back and says, “I gotta pee.”

Eliot sighs and flops onto his back. Q gets out of bed and rushes out of the room. “To your right!” he calls out.

“Thank you!”

Eliot reaches for his phone on his nightstand and there are a few texts from Margo, the first time stamped at four in the morning.

From Margo Hanson:  
_I planned on staying out all night, but I couldn’t stay after finding out the guy I hooked up with has a signed football by Tom Brady in his room. Sorry in advance!_

From Margo Hanson:  
_Never mind, you’re dead ass asleep. How boring._

From Margo Hanson:  
_Text me when you wake up._

His phone suddenly rings.

“Hello, Margo,” Eliot greets.

“_What are you doing today?_”

“I don’t know yet, why? Do you want to wallow over being near a Bostonite?”

“_A little._”

“Then just come in here. I doubt anything salacious is happening.”

She comes into view of his open door, her phone still on her ear. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Eliot hangs up.

“We need to go shopping for our respective gifts,” she reminds him.

“We do, but I was thinking of brunch first.”

The toilet flushes, the sink runs.

“Do you want to...meet after brunch?”

“Bambi. I may have found love, but there’s no way I’d exclude you from brunch plans with you here.”

She smiles. “Good. Don’t want you dickmatized.”

“Haven’t had a chance, so don’t rule it out. Hi, Q.”

Q is a little flustered, but he’s smiling. “Dickmatized?” he questions.

Margo looks between them. “You, definitely. El - to be determined.”

Q flushes and _oh_, no denial. Eliot smiles at him.

“Brunch then shopping,” Margo concludes. “Everyone, get dressed. I’ll decide where to go.”

But Eliot isn’t really listening, he’s still looking at Quentin, whose eyes are alight with amusement and a little bit of arousal. “Maybe I’m a _little _dickmatized,” he admits.

Margo groans. “Do I need to grab a coffee or something so then everyone will actually be _focused_?”

“Sorry,” Q says, coughing. “Brunch sounds great. I love brunch. Eggs, waffles...all good.”

She smiles sunnily. “Great!” She takes her phone out of her pocket and begins texting. 

Eliot delicately clears his throat. 

“Oh, I’m not leaving. Get dressed. You too, Q.”

Eliot looks to Quentin, wondering if maybe they should admit their shame so the can -

“I got a table at Cafe Cluny if we can get there in the next twenty minutes.”

Eliot tears his gaze away from Quentin. “You _what_?”

She raises an eyebrow in response.

Eliot quickly stands up. “Sorry, Q, it’s Cafe Cluny.”

“I’ve never even _heard_ of that - what’s so special about it?” Q complains as Eliot searches through his dresser for a pair of pants.

“Here,” Margo says, handing her phone over.

“_Eighteen dollars_ for an avocado toast with a poached egg? Come on.”

Eliot feels that deeply in his heart and his wallet.

A moment of silence. “Oh, but it looks so good, fuck. _Fine_.”

“Brioche french toast with lemon curd and vanilla custard,” she adds.

“Someone better order that for the table and it should go on their tab.”

“Since Bambi is delaying sex for us, she can do that,” Eliot suggests.

Q lifts a hand and Eliot goes to argue with him about high-fives, but Q says, “I got one high-five out of you during our friendship. I can get one high-five out of you during our dating.”

Eliot wants to tease him a little for that comment, but he feels like there’s fluttering in his chest at the thought of dating Quentin Coldwater. So, he sighs, tries not to smile too brightly, and returns the high-five.


End file.
